Snapshots
by Lady Razorsharp
Summary: Moments in the life of a young Tracy family. Preseries.
1. FAB

_F.A.B._

 _June 6, 2038_

 _London, England_

Lucille Tracy looked up at her groom of less than twenty-four hours as he lay propped on one elbow beside her. She reached up to lightly trace her fingernails against his bare chest, grinning as he twitched reflexively.

Jeff cracked a smile. "Hey, that tickles."

"Big tough hero is actually ticklish," Lucy mused. "So it's true that you learn all your spouse's secrets when you get married."

"Just don't tell anyone," he quipped. "It'll damage my reputation as a big tough hero."

Lucy assumed an expression of mock seriousness. "Oh, don't worry, Colonel Tracy, your secret's safe with me."

Jeff lowered his face to hers. "I certainly hope so, Mrs. Tracy." He brushed his lips against hers, and she responded by wrapping her arms around him and pulling him closer. Jeff shifted his weight and rolled onto his back, pulling her slight form across his lean, muscular torso as he went. Her red-gold hair fell around them like a silken curtain, and he caught the scent of her lavender perfume as their movements stirred the air.

Lucy pulled back to smile down into her husband's warm brown gaze, knowing he was seeing himself reflected in her turquoise eyes. "I love you."

Jeff reached up to caress her cheek, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "F.A.B.," he said, his hand continuing to his brow to snap her a salute.

She laughed. "What in the world does that mean?"

"'Fully Advised and Briefed,'" Jeff informed her. "So yes, I am fully advised and briefed that you love me. Hey!" He brought both arms up to shield his face as Lucy sat up and whacked him with the pillow.

"What, you can't damage your rep by saying 'I love you' back?" She made a face. "You just made that up, didn't you?"

Jeff shrugged. "Okay, I _did_ just make that up." Lucy hit him again and left the pillow over his head. "But you have to admit, it sounds cool!" he said, muffled.

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Hmmm. I'll reserve judgement on that one," she retorted, as Jeff tossed the pillow away and sat up. "Next you'll be telling me that big tough heroes can't even kiss their wives."

In answer, Jeff leaned into her and pressed his mouth against hers as if she were water, and he a man dying of thirst. When they parted, her eyes were dancing and her cheeks were pink.

"F.A.B.," she murmured.


	2. Homecoming

Homecoming

The videophone link was chiming as Jeff opened the door to his room at the officer's billeting. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he called, letting his gear slide off his tired shoulders to thump against the tiles. He turned to shut the door, then hurried to the screen and tapped the 'answer' icon. "Tracy," he barked.

A female communications officer appeared, and her bright eyes and crisp uniform made Jeff painfully aware of his sunburnt, stubble-chinned, and all-around disheveled state. "Good morning, Colonel," she chirped in a pure Received Pronunciation accent. "Your wife is on the line. Shall I patch her through?"

He barely got out a strangled "Yes!" before his wife's face blinked into view. "Lucy! Oh, Luce." Jeff reached out and touched the screen with a grubby hand. "Sweet mercy, it's good to see you."

Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she reached out to press her palm against the screen. "Oh, my darling! I wish I was there."

He moved back a step, drinking in the sight of her. "I know, I do too." He rested his palm against the image of hers. "I'll be home as soon as the briefing is over. Three days, at the most."

Lucy wiped her eyes. "Wonderful." She removed her hand from the screen. "We'll be waiting for you."

He cocked his head at her. "'We?'"

"Yes, my darling," answered Lucy, her tears beginning again. "I'm pregnant."

Jeff, mouth agape, dropped hard onto the bed. "F.A.B.," he breathed.


	3. Number Four

Number Four

Jeff Tracy gently shook the shoulder of his oldest child. "Scotty, wake up." He reached over to the opposite bed and ruffled the red-gold hair of his second son. "You too, Johnny boy."

From the toddler bed in the corner, Virgil rolled over to study his father and brothers with a solemn brown gaze, thumb in mouth and tattered green blanket clutched in his other hand.

"Too early, Dad," protested eight-year-old Scott, burrowing deeper into the comforter printed with rocket ships. Six-year-old John pulled his own rocket ship comforter over his head in wordless protest.

"It's Mother's Day," Jeff reminded them.

Those three words were the only encouragement the elder Tracy brothers needed. Both boys threw off the covers and hurried toward the bathroom, but Scott made it first and slammed the door in John's face. "I gotta go, Scotty, hurry up!" the redhead growled.

While his older two sorted themselves out, Jeff turned to his three-year-old son. "Come on, little man, let's get you taken care of." Virgil grinned, leaving his blanket among the bedclothes in exchange for the secure embrace of his father. By the time Scott and John had brushed their teeth and changed into play clothes, Virgil was in a dry pair of training shorts and helping his father pull a green t-shirt over his rumpled brown head. "Mama's Day," he piped. "Bekfes?"

Jeff laughed. "Yes. Mama is staying in bed this morning, and we're making her breakfast."

"Pancakes!" John crowed.

"No, waffles," countered Scott.

" _Pancakes!"_ John shot back.

"Waffles!"

"Boys!" Jeff's voice brought them both up short, and they turned sheepish faces on their father. "Let's ask Virgil."

Both boys turned to their little brother, awaiting his verdict. "Muffins," was Virgil's input. " _Booberry_."

Duly advised, the Tracy men trooped downstairs to the kitchen in search of a blueberry muffin recipe. An hour later, said kitchen looked as if a small hurricane of flour had descended on the counters, the floor, and the three boys. Virgil had batter in his hair, and his mouth and fingers were stained purple from sneaking berries from the bowl. Pastel paper muffin cups were scattered everywhere, but much to Jeff's surprise, Scott was scraping the last of the batter into the tin while John held the bowl steady. Soon, if all went well, they would have twelve perfect muffins to present to the lady of the house.

At that moment, Lucille Tracy walked into the kitchen, looking dazed but happy. "Jeff," she said, an odd note in her voice.

"Mama!" Virgil crowed. "Happy Mama's Day!" He showed her a handful of smushed berries. "We makin' booberry muffins for you!" He cocked his head as he noticed something in his mother's hand-a white plastic stick. "'Zat?"

At Virgil's question, his brother's heads came up from their work. Jeff got to his feet to peer at the item clutched in his wife's fingers. He took it from her, and stared in amazement at the tiny screen with its single word. "You mean-"

"I'm pregnant," Lucille announced, then gave a laugh that ended in a sob, joyful tears spilling down her face.

"I'm calling it now: Boy!" yelled Scott.

"Nuh-uh," countered John. "Girl!"

"Puppy!" yelled Virgil.

 **** ** _-four months later-_**

The three Tracy boys huddled miserably on the hard hospital sofa, watching their father pace the floor in front of them. Virgil sat with John's arms around him, thumb in mouth; the redhead was rocking him back and forth slowly, humming tunelessly in his little brother's ear.

Next to John, Scott sat wishing he could un-see the picture that flashed before his eyes every time he blinked: His mother, her nightgown stained with red, as his father scooped her up to place her gently in the car for the trip to the base hospital. He didn't know much about what had happened, but he knew enough to understand this was very, very bad.

Finally, the doors to the surgical suite opened, and an Air Force doctor in mint-green scrubs exited the suite. "Col. Jeff Tracy?" she asked.

Jeff hurried over. "How's my wife?" The boys tumbled off the sofa to surround him, and he rested his hands on Scott's shoulder and the top of John's head as Virgil clung to his leg.

"She's fine," the doctor pronounced, smiling gently as all four Tracys exhaled in relief. "Unfortunately, we were unable to save your daughter. It was a spontaneous abortion, the most common kind of miscarriage." She paused as Jeff's eyes squeezed shut in agony. "We performed a dilation and curettage, in order to guard against infection. She should rest off her feet for a few days, but there's no damage to her uterus."

Scott looked up at the doctor. "So...we were going to have a sister?"

"Yes," the doctor confirmed, her voice sad but kind. "Something went wrong, though, and your mom's body did what it's supposed to do naturally if she couldn't carry the baby all nine months. Do you know what that means?"

Scott nodded, his deep blue eyes filling with tears.

 **Eighteen months later, they were back in the same hospital for the birth of Tracy number four-a boy.**

His family named him Gordon.


	4. Practical Details

Practical Details

The intercom buzzed. "Mrs. Adams, Col. Tracy is here."

Caroline nodded and laid down her pen. "Thank you, Violet. Would you please tell him to come in?" She rose from behind her desk, and the door opened on its silent runners to admit a man whose posture and carriage would have given him away, had she not already known his rank. Caroline extended her hand. "How do you do, Colonel? I'm Caroline Adams."

"How do you do, ma'am," Tracy returned in a clipped baritone, taking her proffered hand for a brief, strong shake. "I appreciate your taking the time to see me."

"Not at all." She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. "Please have a seat. May I offer you a cup?"

Tracy laid his cap on the desk and seated himself in the tufted leather chair. "No thank you, ma'am, I'm good."

Caroline tapped a button on her desk, and the door slid shut behind them. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a house, as well as a governess." His brows drew together. "Maybe two," he added.

"Houses?"

"Governesses. Or a governess and a nanny."

Caroline smiled. "Just thought I'd clarify." The Colonel's face remained impassive, so she cleared her throat and went on. "What size is your family?

"There's seven of us."

Caroline nodded, her fingers tapping and sliding the files on her monitor. "Nice big family," she commented. "Not something you see very often these days." The Colonel did not comment, and she went on, a touch uncomfortably. "So: A home for you, your wife-"

"No." The word was flat. "Just me and my boys. My mother will be coming from the U.S. to live with us full-time as well."

Her hands stopped their dance mid-air as the realization of his words sunk in. " _Five_ boys-"

"Yes."

Guessing from his stony expression, comments on the size of his family were off-limits. "I see. And their mother-"

"She died last year." _It's none of your business,_ said his tone.

"Oh." She hadn't meant to pry, but- _five boys!_ Caroline found herself wishing she could have met the late Mrs. Tracy, if to do nothing else but shake her hand. "I'm sorry."

Tracy sighed and stood, collecting his cap from the desk. "Mrs. Adams, look. I know we're not your average family, but I'm just trying to find someplace we can regroup. My wife died last January, my father passed away six weeks ago, and I'm about the only one in my family that's any type of upright and sane." He shook his head. "I need to find someone who'll take us on. My mom usually picks up the slack, but she's got her own problems at the moment, and she's not getting any younger. My boys are _good_ boys, but they're active, and Alan's just a baby-"

He stopped in mid sentence, and Caroline could see by the way his throat worked that he was trying desperately to hang on to his composure. After a few moments, he took a shaky breath and continued. "We just need someone to give us some breathing room. That's all. If you can't help us, tell me now, so we don't waste my time and yours."

As her prospective client finished this impassioned speech, Caroline found that she was near tears herself. Col. Tracy was a man who might have lost the light in his eyes, but he was fighting to keep it alive in his soul; the least she could do was help him with the practical details of that battle. "I see your point, Colonel." Turning back to her monitor, Caroline deftly called up the listings for several vacant country houses, as well as her file of capable young women who might relish the challenge of teaching and caring for five active brothers. "I believe I may have what you're looking for."

For the first time since their meeting began, Jeff Tracy smiled.


End file.
